burn so bright
by jadeddiva
Summary: Crown Princess Emma just wants to spend some time living a normal life; Killian Jones doesn't expect to meet a princess in a frat house. Inspired by Pulp's "Common People."
1. one

"Isn't this fun?" Ruby shouts above the music. The beer in her red cup splashes out and falls on Emma's toes, but she doesn't care. The music is loud – so loud she feels it in her bones, moving her head and hips and arms and legs like they're not even connected to her. It possesses her soul and her heart and as she watches the lead singer of the band look at her again for the forty-millionth time, Emma nods her head.

This is way more fun than she ever anticipated.

From the stage, the lead singer of the band winks at her and Emma smiles even wider.

…

_"Do you really think that this is such a good idea, David?" Queen Mary-Margaret pursed her lips and glanced over at her husband. "Do you really think that she'll be safe?"_

_"**She** is right here and listening…" Emma says, crossing her arms across her chest and slumping down in the elegant brocade chair. From behind her she can hear her bodyguard, Leroy, huff at her words; he was like a loyal puppy when it came to Emma's mother, the Queen, of course he'd take her side._

_"Emma." Her mother scolded her in that soft tone of hers that made her such a popular ruler. "Queen of Our Hearts" was a common refrain in the kingdom, and Emma loved her mother dearly, but she had a cautious streak a mile wide and it was driving Emma crazy. There was an entire world outside of their small kingdom and Emma itched to explore every inch of it and learn it for herself before she assumed the throne in her own name._

_"I don't know, Mary-Margaret," Prince David said from the window. "Emma has done her due diligence - it's a well-respected school." Her father winked at Emma. "Besides, it's not like other royals haven't gone abroad for school."_

_"Crown princes and princesses, just like me," Emma pointed out, sitting higher in her chair. "Crown Prince Haakon of Norwary, Crown Princess Victoria of Sweden – "_

_Mary-Margaret waved her hand. "Isolated examples, Emma."_

_"Prince Harry went to Afghanistan."_

_Her mother's nostrils flared in response before her father stepped in and placed a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Emma, don't tease your mother. You know that she worries about your safety. But if Leroy was to go with you – "_

_Behind her Leroy huffed again, but when Mary-Margaret's eyes turned towards him, his tone changed. "Anything for you, your majesty."_

_"I'm not happy with this," her mother told her. "Your roommate will have to be veted."_

_"Understood." That was the least of Emma's problems._

_"And I'll send a younger security detail with you in addition to Leroy."_

_"Of course." Maybe she's send Lieutenant Humbert, he seemed to be fun and he always blushed when she asked him to help her with anything…_

_"And I will expect weekly reports on your well-being and if – " _

_"Mom, it's okay. It's a big country – no one will recognize a princess from a tiny monarchy anyway." Besides, Skype was the best – this would be easy. And she planned to blend in as much as possible._

_Mary-Margaret smiled. "Crown Princess."_

_Emma shrugged. "Semantics."_

_"Your inheritance." Mary-Margaret reached her hand towards her daughter, and Emma stood and approached her mother, sitting at her feet like she did as a small girl and Queen Snow was the single most amazing person she ever knew (and still was, even now that she was eighteen)._

_"I know, and I won't forget that." That much was true, not because it had been drilled into her brain every day for her entire life, but also because she wanted to make her mother and father proud. _

_Her mother leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I trust your judgment, my darling. And when you are queen, you will ask the same of both yourself and your people."_

_Emma smiled, excitement building in her belly, "So I can go?" The idea – university abroad in a new country, with new people (new boys! that she didn't know! and wasn't possibly related to!) and a new way of life where she wasn't Crown Princess Emma…the thought was almost too much._

_Her mother's smile was more than enough confirmation._

_The roommate selection process was fairly easy: they settled on a brilliant young English major named Belle from the kingdom who was also going to study abroad; they found a dorm with an all-girls floor that allowed no men after 8pm and strict rules for admission and dismissal; and they organized everything so that Lieutenant Humbert would be the housed on another floor within easy reach of the Princess should something happen. _

_Everything came together so well that Emma's head spun, and soon it was time for her to say goodbye to her parents (there were tears shed by all, for Emma was an only child and even though the prince was stoic, she was wrapped around his finger at an early age). But there was also the bright and brilliant hope of a new future, one where she could make decisions based on what she thought was right for her, not what others thought of her as the future monarch. _

_Belle was a sweet roommate, kind and intelligent, and she didn't treat Emma like her future sovereign. The other two girls who shared the suite – Ariel, a red-head from Florida, and Ruby, a brunette from Chicago – were friendly and best of all, they had no idea who Emma was. _

_Emma liked Ruby – she was adventurous and fun, and she always knew where the best parties were and helped Emma get a fake ID fairly easily. It was Ruby who convinced her to go to the college party tonight._

_"The best band on campus is playing – Count to Ten? Have you heard of them?" When Emma shook her head, Ruby insisted._

_"We've got fakes, we've got plausibly deniability in that Belle said she'd cover for us – even that guy that you hang around with said he'll be studying tonight."_

_"Graham?" Emma asked, and when Ruby nodded her head, Emma said nothing to change her mind. She did spend a lot of time with the Lieutenant because he was also enrolled in her major, and even if he did still blush when she talked to him, Ruby did not need to know that he was hanging out with her because her mother was his boss._

_"Look, it's at Eric's frat, Ariel will get us in –we're free and clear."_

_Emma nodded her head. "Let's do it."_

…

"This is our last song," the lead singer says, and Emma moans along with the crowd. She could dance to this band forever, she never wants it to end.

They play for one more song and Ruby leaves, coming back with full cups of beer and a wide smile.

"I'm glad you're having fun!" she shouts above the music. "You should go talk to him."

"Talk to who?" Emma asks.

"The lead singer. He hasn't taken his eyes off you this entire time."

The lead singer of the band_ is _super-hot – dark hair, blue eyes that shined despite the dimness of the frat house, scruffy beard. And Ruby's totally right – he has been checking her out the entire night. Emma assumes it's the halter top that Ruby convinced her to wear, or maybe the short skirt and the platform sandals but whatever the case, he definitely has been looking at her and she's been looking right back.

The thought that he might be into her sends a jolt through Emma's body. She doesn't have much experience with guys –all the ones at court are interested in nothing more than sex and skiing, even Lord Neal (who she knows her mom wants her to marry but who is really into polo this year and Emma could really care less). But there's something raw and visceral about the lead singer, whose name she doesn't know and who, even as he says goodnight to the crowd, keeps his eyes firmly on her. He moves his head to the left – a gesture? Does he want to talk to her?

"Oh god, he wants to talk to you," Ruby exhales. She opens her purse, digs around for a bit before placing foil packets in Emma's hand. "Be safe, and remember get your own drink. And if anything is wrong, text me. Otherwise, godspeed you lucky bitch."

Ruby pushes her off as Emma shoves the condoms in her purse, thankful for all the years of decorum classes that have allowed her to walk in these ridiculously high heels. She straightens her spine, gets a steady grip on her drink, and approaches him.

The lead singer smiles at her as he pulls at cords to disconnect his guitar from the amp. "You're quite a dancer, beautiful," he tells her. There is an accent to his voice, and it is incredibly hot. Emma smiles.

"You're quite the guitar player," she responds, and he flashes a smile as he winks.

"Let me put this away, then I'm all yours," he promises, leaving Emma to linger by the makeshift stage for a moment. She takes a sip of her beer, wonders if this is a good idea before deciding that it is definitely a good idea. She's only slightly tispy, she's got protection, and a security detail a phone call away if anything should go wrong. Besides, he's a lot hotter up close when she can see hot tight his t-shirt is, the way that it clings to his chest, the dark hair that peaks out above the shirt's V-neck.

Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's the guy, but whatever it is, Emma has honestly not wanted to make out with someone this bad in her entire life. She downs the rest of her beer quickly.

When he finishes putting his guitar away, he returns and notices her empty cup.

"Let's go get you a refill," he suggests, guiding her towards the keg with his hand on her back. Warmth radiates out from his touch, and Emma takes a deep breath. He doesn't ask questions when she fills her own cup, and he fills his own as well, and then they find a quiet corner (his request) so that they can talk.

They do the best they can over the bass beats and the loud noise of the crowd. His name is Killian; he is a junior. He is a geography major, and he isn't from around these parts though he doesn't say where he's from. She lies and says she's a junior too, international studies major, and she doesn't give up anything more than that because she doesn't need to; they are close enough that she can feel his fringe brush against her forehead when they lean their heads close so that they can hear, close enough that their hips meet and with every movement of their bodies, and every sip of alcohol, she grows bolder and more sure of what she wants.

They refill their drinks and she's got a solid buzz going, feeling good about herself and warm throughout her entire body every time she looks at him, and lord almighty, she wants him in any way she can have him. Screw propriety, screw her heritage – right now the world is just the two of him, his eyes and his body and every single bit of him.

So she reaches for him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into a kiss. It starts off slowly – he is surprised – but he groans and opens his mouth, hand coming up to reach for her hair. He threads his fingers through her curls, angles her head, and she deepens the kiss, tracing his lower lip with her tongue.

He breaks the kiss then, glancing up and around them, then back at her. His blue eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blow wide, and she dips her eyes to press a soft kiss against his mouth.

"Upstairs?" he asks.

Emma nods. Most definitely.

…

He notices her almost immediately. There are blondes in the room and then there is _her_, curls flying as she dances to the music, hips shaking and moving, genuine happiness evident on her face, and Killian is so caught up in her that he almost forgets the lyrics to his own songs.

She is a wonder, and he wants to know her name. Never before has he had such a need to talk to a girl before, but this girl is something else completely.

She makes eye contact with him, singing the refrain with everyone else and there's something in her gaze that feels good, that feels like coming home. He's a poetic soul, his bandmates tease him for it, but he wonders if that familiarity in her eyes is something deeper than just a connection.

What if he met his soul mate at a frat party?

Stranger things have happened, and in Killian's life, he's seen that.

This university is his second chance at life, after leaving his home when his brother died four years ago. It meant a dishonorable discharge from military service and a new start in this foreign country, but he believes in hope and chance and all he can hope for right now is that that beautiful girl enjoying his songs will pay attention to him afterwards and give him a chance.

At the very least, he'd like to get her number.

(There's a lot more he could hope for, but that's just wishful thinking.)

She approaches him after they finish their set, and the first thing he can think is that she's even more beautiful up close.

What's even more amazing is when she kisses him, so intently and so fiercely that he loses all grasp of reality. Her tongue moves against his, soft little mews coming from her mouth, and it makes him harder than he's ever been, the way that she leans into him, the way that her hair feels between his fingers.

He takes a deep breath and pulls back, and it feels like the hardest decision he's ever made in his life.

Killian isn't in this frat but his friend Eric is, and he hopes that Eric can forgive him for wanting twenty minutes of privacy to make out with a girl in his room. It's easy to ask Emma to go upstairs with him, and even though his intent is not to have sex with her (not in a borrowed bed, that is not enough for someone as beautiful as her) and it's easy to kiss her once the door is closed, to feel how responsive she is as he trails his hands down her sides, moves around to grab her ass through that ridiculously short skirt. She is ridiculously wanton, rubbing against his, grabbing his collar and pulling him closer, and Killian follows. He tries to come up with a game plan – oral? Something else? – but then Emma stops kissing him, suddenly.

She puts a hand over her mouth in the universal sign for drinking too much alcohol.

He opens the door to their left, and watches as she runs through it. It is only when he sees her worshipping the porcelain goddess that he wonders if Emma is really as old as she said and, if not, what exactly she's doing sneaking into a party like this.

He is polite, and rubs her back while she moans in dismay. "Easy, princess," he tells her, holding her hair back from her face as she vomits.

"Not princess," she says, wiping her mouth off before retching again. "Cronncesss."

"What?" Killian asks. "I didn't quite catch that, love.

Emma reaches up with a shaky hand to flush the toilet before wiping her mouth again.

"Crown Princess. I'm the Crown Princess."

Killian frowns, unsure of what is going on until it hits him – why she was so familiar, why he found her so appealing. He grew up looking at her face, watching her family on the news. He remembers how beautiful he thought she was – beautiful and sad, a princess trapped behind castle walls. He remembers his first parade in the army, performing his duty as citizen to serve for two years, and how she smiled at him from her seat on the stand (and how his colleagues teased him for a week, star-struck and in awe, for thinking she was looking at him to begin with, one in a sea of many).

It is his Crown Princess – or the Crown Princess of his former homeland, the one he left when Liam was killed.

He is sitting in a frat bathroom an ocean away with a drunk princess who is looking up at him with those green eyes and he is just…

Killian takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. This evening definitely took an interesting turn.


	2. two

Killian looks at Emma, who has tucked her knees into her chest and rests her chin on top of them. She looks so young right now and he feels a tremendous sense of responsibility for her wellbeing. Even if he doesn't consider his place of birth his home (not anymore), and even if he doesn't swear allegiance to the corrupt government that ended his brother's life, he knows that the monarchs are just figure-heads, and Emma is innocent of any crime. It would hardly be good form to not take care of her now.

(And that has nothing to do with how he felt moments earlier, when she first caught his eye in the crowd.)

"So what do we do with a drunken princess?" he asks quietly. "Do you have armed guards or something?" Killian tries to keep his tone light and ignorant, though he knows very well that guarding the royal family was a responsibility of the military, but only those who did exceptionally well advanced to that position.

Emma shakes her head vigorously, curls falling on her shoulders.

"We can't tell them – they'll just tell my parents," Emma says. There is fear in her eyes. "My mom didn't want me to come here."

Killian remembers the gentle smile of the Queen, and he can only imagine having to part with her only daughter. "Okay, we come up with another plan. How are you feeling?"

"Better now that I…" Emma trails. She blushes, turning pink all over (it's impressive, really, how the blush spreads over her exposed limbs and Killian clears his throat and looks away). "I'm sorry. I am _so_ ridiculous right now."

"If that counts as ridiculous, your highness, then I'm eager to see what else you get up to." Killian winks at her, and she blushes more. He can't look at her without blushing himself, and so he stares at a chipped section of tile on the floor. He takes a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts (she is a distraction, Emma is, and he would willingly allow himself to be distracted forever if she was in a better state).

He makes a decision. "Here's what we'll do – let's collect that brunette friend of yours, get some food into both of you, and I'll make sure you get home."

Emma frowns, brow furrowing. "You don't have to do that. We can get home on our own."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really? If your friend had as much to drink as you…"

Emma sighs, defeated. "Fine. But we're stopping at Jimmy John's. And I'm paying."

There is no room for arguing with her tone, and so he teases, "You're quick to give commands - and here I thought you were just a princess, not a queen." Emma's lips quirk up in a smile, and Killian feels pleased with himself for her reaction.

He stands, extending a hand to help her up and she sighs again before she takes it. As he pulls her towards him, the fingers of his other hand skim her hips and jolt of longing – of what he felt earlier – surges through him. He reaches behind her, bodies brushing against each other, and grabs the mouthwash that Eric kept near the sink.

"Rinse your mouth out – it'll make you feel better. I'll wait for you outside."

She nods, gripping the bottle like it's a lifeline, and he leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Her purse is on the bed – she must have dropped it. He sits down next to it, drops his head into his hands, and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Killian's hatred for the politics of his country collide with the innocence and beauty of the crown princess, whose body he was touching mere moments before and whose mouth he was desperately kissing before that, and _oh god._

He is about to take the crown princess out for a sandwich and escort her safely back to her dorm.

How did he get here? And, more specifically, what happens next?

Before he can figure it out, the door opens quietly and Emma slips out, turning the light off behind her.

"Thanks," she says again, looking around for her purse. Killian grabs it and stands, handing it to her.

"Of course, your highness."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Ruby doesn't know I'm royalty. She thinks my security detail is just a guy who's in my major. So don't call me 'your highness' in front of her, please."

"Of course, your highness, wouldn't dream of it," Killian says with a wink and a nod. Emma slings her purse strap over her shoulder and tilts her head, smiling at him.

"Thanks – you're being really cool about this." Emma pauses. "Too cool, actually." He can see her gaze harden, turn from thoughtful to suspicious, and he doesn't know what to do because he hasn't thought that far beyond the feigned ignorance in the bathroom earlier.

If he tells her that he's from her kingdom, there's the chance she could find out about him before he can tell her himself (wishful thinking, Killian, that she might stick around that long). If he doesn't, and she finds out eventually, then she'll be angry that he lied to her. None of the options look good and so he scrambles as the silence stretches between them and all they can hear is the pounding bass from downstairs.

"What if I told you that royalty or not, I'm hoping to endear myself enough to you so that I can get your number?" The explanation, however shaky and patched together, seems to work for Emma. She bites her lip coyly, and his heart flip-flops in his chest.

He is a goner.

…

Jimmy John's is a fluorescent nightmare, and Emma is feeling tired from the alcohol and the events of the evening. She orders her usual ("number twelve") and reaches into her purse to pull out her wallet and credit card. She hands it to the cashier after the others finish ordering, and when Ruby bounces off towards the soda fountains, she turns to look at Killian.

She's sure that she looks a wreck, makeup smeared and hair a mess, but he looks ridiculously hot in his t-shirt and jeans. He keeps running his hands through his hair but when he notices her looking at him, he turns and smiles, and her stomach does a somersault.

He is undoubtedly the hottest guy she's never met and the way that he hands her a drink cup then ushers her towards the soda machine confirms that he's a perfect gentleman too.

Emma won't forget the way how kind he was to her when she completely embarrassed herself (she can feel her skin flush when she thinks of how silly she must seem, getting sick from cheap beer) and she watches him out of the corner of his eye as he dips to pick up two bags of chips from below the counter. She gets Coke, and glances over to find Ruby talking to some guys in a nearby booth.

"She's something else," Killian says, his voice right beside her ear. Emma takes a step away because his presence next to her is more than she can handle at the moment (she still wants to make out with him _so bad_, but even though he's saying nice things to her, she can't be sure that he wants the same).

"That's our Ruby," she says with a shrug. "Better go stop her from getting into trouble."

She glides up to Ruby and links her arm through hers, not even glancing at the boys that Ruby is talking to because suddenly no other male can hold her attention as much as the one she just walked away from. "Let's go, darling," she says, steering Ruby away from the pack of boys and towards the counter, where Killian stands holding their sandwiches.

Emma pushes Ruby into the nearest booth, and slides in beside her. Killian slides in across from them.

Ruby starts up a steady conversation that meanders all over the place from his band to his major to the frat (which he is not a member of, but apparently he's friends with Eric too) and it moves so fast that Emma can't keep up so she just chews, eats her chips slowly, and watches Killian handle Ruby with composure that only her mother could match. It's impressive, to say the least, and when Ruby climbs over her to head to the bathroom, she tells him as much.

"Thanks for being so nice to Ruby," she tells him with a smile, and he smiles back, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck.

"It's easy to be nice to someone as friendly as her," he responds. His eyes are so blue in this harsh light, and she likes that.

She likes _him_, and she hasn't ever felt this way before.

There is an awkward pause as both of them clean up their sandwich wrappers and stand, throwing away the garbage in a nearby trashcan. Emma refills her Coke before Ruby returns, and by the time they're back on the way to the dorms, she feels more than sober.

She also feels more than alive because as they walk, her hand touches Killian's (who seems to want to walk so close to her that their arms brush and her breath catches ever time) while Ruby keeps walking and talking, leaving them in her wake. Every touch is like brushing against a live wire, sending heat and energy through her body into her core, and she feels dizzy and breathless in its wake.

"I've never seen the inside of these dorms," Killian points out once they reach their residence hall, and Ruby stops, spins around, a smile on her face.

"And you won't, because boys aren't allowed after eight," she teases in a sing-song voice, and Killian shoves his hands in his pockets, raises his eyebrows.

"Maybe I'll stop back sometime before eight," he responds, and Ruby laughs as she reaches into her purse and pulls out her prox card.

"I'll see you upstairs, Em," she says, swiping her prox card against the pad, and the door clicks open. She waves once at them, and then closes the door behind her.

They look at each other for a moment, shyness spreading between them, and Emma decides to break it the tension. What she's going to do is reckless and Graham AND Leroy would fuss at her, but she doesn't care. "Let me see your phone."

Killian quirks an eyebrow before reaching into his back pocket. He types in the lock code and then hands it to her. She takes a few moments, presses a few buttons, and then hands it back to him. From her purse, she hears her phone buzz and she smiles at his confusion.

"Thanks for giving me your number, Killian," she says, turning towards the door, excited about the dazed look in his eyes, but he reaches out and grabs her wrist before she can fully turn away. His grip is light but enough to make her stop and spin back towards him. And that is when he moves

He cups her head with both hands, takes a deep breath, and kisses her.

It is not desperate, like their first earlier tonight, but it is not easy either, and she rests her hands on his stomach, one hand clutching her keys in her fist, as the kisses deepens. He kisses her like she's the only thing he wants to taste, like he can't get enough of her and there's something about that which makes her legs go weak.

She stops the kiss, takes a shaky breath before resting her forehead against his. "I'll see you around, okay?" she says softly.

"Yes," he breathes, and when she steps back and turns away this time, he doesn't follow her.

"Goodnight, Emma," he calls softly, and she can't look back at him because she won't want to stop moving forward. She swipes her prox card, opens the door, and escapes into the dim residence hall.

(She cannot sleep that night because she wants nothing more than to think of him, of his eyes and his face and his hands, the taste of him, and she buries her face in her pillow to contain her excitement).

…

Killian spends most of Sunday staring at his phone, drafting text messages that he doesn't dare send because none of them are right (and that's because he doesn't know what he's doing when it comes to Emma).

_Emma._ He swears he can still feel her curls between his fingers, still taste her on his lips.

When he wakes up late Sunday morning, the events of the past night crash into him with such force that he cannot help but feel overwhelmed. The possibility that someone from his country could actually be here, that he would meet them at a party, and that person might just be the Crown Princess…

It occurs to him that he probably shouldn't have made out with her, but she seemed to like it.

He knows he did.

Robin, his roommate, rolls in around 2pm (from where, Killian doesn't know and doesn't ask) and glances at Killian before heading straight to the fridge and grabbing a soda.

"You look flustered," he says, sitting down on the couch opposite Killian. "Walk of shame gone wrong? Was the gig last night really that bad?"

Killian sets the phone down, checking to make sure he hasn't sent the message that he was working on accidentally. Robin knows all about his backstory and why he's here, and Killian knows that he will probably have a few choice words for the situation that he's put himself in, which means he'll have to fluff the details, because he can still remember the look on Emma's face when she mentioned her mother (and protecting Emma is the only way he can justify that this as _not_ being bad form).

"I met a girl last night from back home," he says. Robin's eyes widen in surprise.

"Didn't think there were many of you here," Robin tells him. He takes a sip of his soda. "And?"

"You know how I feel about…that time in my life."

"But you like her," Robin points out. "Or you wouldn't be agonizing over sending her a text."

Killian pinches the bridge of his noise between his fingers. "It's that obvious, isn't it?"

"You don't get like this over girls – well, ever, now that I think of it…" Robin smiles at him. "We've got that station meeting at 3pm, so I'm going to shower and then we should head over."

Killian sighs and reaches for his phone. He had completely forgotten about the station-wide meeting that the general manager of their radio station, Regina, had scheduled for today. He's actually grateful, because it means that he'll be able to distract himself from Emma for at least an hour, maybe more.

He stares at the text message one more time before opening his email instead. Maybe absence will make the heart grow fonder, and will help him figure out what to text a princess.

…

Killian does not text her, and Emma grows impatient.

"Have you heard from him?" Ruby asks at lunch on Tuesday. Emma pokes her salad with her fork. From across the room she can see Graham, her security detail, eating lunch and keeping an eye on her. She desperately hopes that he cannot hear this conversation, that he is blissfully ignorant of the struggles of her heart because that is the last thing her mother needs to hear about.

"No." She doesn't like the radio silence that seems to be going on between Killian and herself, and yet she doesn't know what to do to end it. She's a princess. She's rich. Most of her relationships have been arranged by her parents – heavily chaperoned "get to know you" dates which usually end with Emma vowing to never be set up again.

"So why haven't you texted him?"

Emma glances up at Ruby and realizes that she's absolutely serious.

"I don't know," Emma says. It's the truth. She's so used to having other people do the work for her that the one moment of recklessness – using his phone to get his number – seems like a distant memory. She blinks.

"What would I even say?" she asks. Ruby smiles.

"Give me your phone. I'll type something, and you get final approval."

Emma fishes her phone out of her bag and hands it to Ruby, who types something and then hands it back to her.

**Hey! How is your Tuesday going?**

"That's lame," Emma points out. Ruby shrugs.

"It's progress. Just send it, Em, and see what happens."

Nervously, Emma presses 'Send', and the message drifts out into the ether. She puts her phone back into her bag. "Just so you know, if he doesn't respond and my heart is broken, I'm counting on you to buy me ice cream."

"He's going to text you back," Ruby reassures her. "But yes, my darling, I will buy you all of the ice cream you so deserve for having your heart broken, and I will play Taylor Swift and cry with you, because that boy was choice." She pauses, and smiles. "But I think he'll text you back."

"Whatever." Emma turns back to her lunch, trying to not be hyper-aware of the silent phone in her bag. After lunch is political science then women's studies, and that is when her phone buzzes.

_Please don't be an email, please don't be an email_, Emma wishes frantically as she tries to discretely check her phone. She grabs it out of her bag and puts it on her lap, then turns her attention back to the professor at the front of the class.

She presses a button and – there it is: a message from Killian.

**Could be better – TR are my 8 to 8 days. What about you?**

She smiles. He responded. And he asked back. But what if this is just him being polite? What if he doesn't really know what to say because he's really not that interested?

**Ten more minutes then I'm free for the day. **

Oh god, was that too forward? Was she asking him out? She just wants to talk to him, she doesn't know if she's ready for that – she texts more.

**MWF are my rough days – 8 am class. I am a glutton for punishment.**

She turns back to the professor who is talking about gender as a social construct. Her phone buzzes.

**How awful. My MWF are usually wide open.**

What does that even mean?

Class ends and Emma leaves, phone in her hand, wondering what she should text before it buzzes again.

**So, we have band practice tomorrow night but if you're bored in the afternoon, you should stop by my radio show. Basement of Truman – 4-6pm. **

He's a dj? And he plays in a band? Suddenly Killian seems way cooler than he was previously, and Emma is momentarily speechless. What would Ruby say?

**I'd like that. **

His response is quick and includes an emoticon.

**Great :)**** See you tomorrow then.**

Her phone buzzes again.

**Your highness.**

She can't even find the energy to be mad at him because all of her energy is directed in her fervent desire not to make a fool of herself by jumping up and down in the middle of campus.

(She does it anyway).


	3. three

Emma runs her finger down the strap of her messenger bag as she approaches door to Truman Hall, the student union. She can feel butterflies in her stomach and she's not sure why. It's just a boy. It's just hanging out.

Nothing will happen at a public radio station.

But what is this is a date? She's not dressed for anything to happen either – leggings, boots, and an oversized sweatshirt that her dorm was selling that has the university logo and her floor name (HILTON HOTTIES!). She wonders if she should have dressed nicer. Her mother would have at least told her to put on a pair of pants or a nicer shirt, but Ariel always wears something like this when she's hanging out with Eric, and Eric seems to like her well enough…

(She keeps thinking of the feel of his hand in her hair, the movement of his lips against hers, and her breath catches in her throat.)

Oh God, please let this not be a date. There is no way that she is mentally prepared for that.

_Now or never_, Emma tells herself as she walks through the doors of the student union, following the directions that Killian texted this morning. The radio station is located in the basement, but it takes some time to find the stairs that takes her there (Killian told her WOUT was tucked away but she's surprised it's _this_ tucked away).

The stairs end at the radio station, where a large window allows her to peer into the dj booth. She can see Killian inside, head bobbing along to the music. She stops for a second and watches as he stacks CDs near turntables (who still uses them?), messing around with the computer, singing along to the music. Seeing him makes her feel lots of things at once, and when he turns around and catches her staring, she blushes and he smiles.

He points to his left, which is where the door must be so Emma heads towards it, finally stepping into the dim studio. She can hear the music that he was playing now, strumming guitars and a drum beat and some melancholy lyrics repeating 'hang it up now or never' over and over again. She doesn't know much about music, usually listens to whatever Ruby or Ariel is playing in the suite, and so all of this is new and exciting and terrifying all at once.

What if her taste in music is a turn-off? What if, in the end, he's only interested in the fact that she's royalty? The open window of the booth makes her nervous – what if this is a set up to take pictures? She's been lucky so far because they've kept her being here low-key, out of the press, and it's not like she's ever caused a scandal – save for Prince William's wedding, she hasn't exactly been in the spotlight (Princess Madeleine is still pissed at her for missing her wedding in Sweden last June but she's promised to make it up when the baby is born). Her mother has kept her appearances minimal, has fed the press stories of her interest in different universities abroad but not this once, in its small college town.

(Back home it was always the rich boys and sons of minor noble houses who wanted their name linked with hers in the papers, boys she avoided because she wants more than just to be loved because she is the Crown Princess, more than jewels and tiaras and land. She wants to be loved because of who she is than what title she will inherit, and she's sure there is no man in her kingdom who could ever see her as just Emma.)

It's a good thing that Killian is not from her kingdom, because Emma thinks he can see past the fancy titles and silliness and can see her. Or, at least, she hopes. Even if Emma may have generic taste in music and pretty much just listens to whatever Ruby or Ariel play in the suite. She does like Lorde a lot, though, so maybe he does too? Everyone likes Lorde, right?

"Lately Emma someone calls you on the telephone," Killian sings at her as she enters the dj booth, "you want to be by yourself and all alone…" He winks at her, and she can't stop blushing.

She is such a dork but she's never felt this way before, which is the only way she can justify this ridiculous behavior.

"You look lovely when you're embarrassed, princess," he tells her, hands moving to his headphones. "I just need to do a station announcement and I'll be right with you."

Emma nods, looking away from him bashfully. Her fingers turn to the cd shelves that line the walls, fingers tracing the spines. She doesn't know half of these bands, suddenly feels very self-aware in this small room which is clearly Killian's space (it even smells a bit like him, something spicy and faint which makes her heart pound in her chest)

She barely knows him but the connection she felt Saturday night was immediate and intense. Her parents fell in love at first sight, and while Emma's doesn't believe in that sort of nonsense, she is starting to come around to the idea that it's possible to meet someone and instantly feel a magnetic pull.

The music ends, his voice comes on, and she doesn't breathe, so scared the microphone will pick it up (because complaining about the Minster from Luxembourg smelling of cheese when she was five and having everyone hear it will be something she never lives down, not with her father at least).

"This is WOUT your university radio station, broadcasting from the basement of your student union. Comments, questions, and remonstrance's - as well as requests - are welcome; you know the drill. Next up is some alt-J, by request."

He clicks a button and pushes back from the microphone. Emma knows this song – it's Belle's ring tone (does she listen to WOUT? She'll have to ask.)

"So you came," he says, removing his headphones.

Emma nods her head, and Killian motions her closer.

"Welcome to WOUT. It's not that big, as you can see," he says, scratching the back of his neck with his hand. "Want a tour?"

He shows her the soundboard, the cd decks and the turntables, the extensive room with more cds and vinyl records, the computer that hooks up and places MP3s and digital files. "We stream live on the web too, so you can listen from wherever," he tells her with a smile. His hand is resting on her back (when did he put it there and how did she not notice? Is it because she wanted him to touch her and that it's so natural when he does, fingers brushing softly against her spine)and she can feel it through her sweatshirt, heat radiating through her, making her feel flushed.

Killian does things to her that both embarrass her and make her feel more alive than she's ever felt and when she looks up at him, catching him looking at her in return, she can tell the feeling is mutual. He clears his throat and looks away, removing his hand, and Emma takes a deep breath and a step back.

"How long have you worked here?" she asks, easing onto a nearby stool.

"Since I got here – met my roommate working here, met the drummer of our band…it's been good," he tells her. She cocks her head to the side and smiles, and he looks at her and smiles back.

"I'm really glad you came," Killian says.

"Me too." Emma lets out a small laugh, looking away from him. "Oh my god, I am easily the most awkward person ever."

"Is that so, your highness?" he teases, and she ducks her head down, hiding her face with her hair.

"I can't stop blushing around you," she responds with a groan. She hears him laugh, hears his chair roll closer. He brings his hands up to her hair, pushes it back behind her ears.

"I thought you're supposed to be a cool, confident hottie," he tells her and she looks up, realizing how ridiculously close their faces are. She doesn't mind it but it puts her in the difficult position of wanting to kiss him and not wanting to do it in front of that damned window.

"What?" she asks, startled by his words, and he laughs.

"Your sweatshirt says you're a hottie, so…" he trails off and she groans, rolling her eyes which makes him laugh. She likes it when he laughs – it's a nice sound.

"It's from my res hall." She shakes her head. "Was that some sort of attempt to cheer me up?"

"Possibly – and to show you that you're _not_ the most awkward person in the room." Killian rolls his chair back, starts to fiddle with something on the computer. He keeps talking to her, not looking at her. "So I'm starting to think that two such awkward individuals such as ourselves should spend more time together being awkward, as we are probably not fit for anyone else's company."

His words send a jolt through Emma and suddenly she's not flushed and flustered, she's cold as ice, stomach dropping as his words sink in. She can barely response with, "Maybe," before her heart jumps to her throat in anticipation.

Killian spins his chair back around to her as a new song begins to play. "Dinner this Friday, then?" There is a faint grin on his lips.

Emma smiles nervously. "Like a date?"

"Nothing fancy – do you like Chinese food?"

Emma nods her head, and the grin on his face widens until he's looking like a total goof.

"Fantastic. Dinner it is."

She can't help but feel giddy at the prospect of a date with him. She doesn't know what it is but it just feels...amazing, being around him. She feels alive, she feels ridiculous, she feels happy, because for the first time in her life someone wants to be with Emma, not the princess.

"Killian, I – " a girl with short dark hair and violent red highlights enters the studio. She glances at Killian, then at Emma, and raises a perfect eyebrow. Her gaze makes Emma shift in her seat, makes her worry for a moment because Emma swears a flash of recognition crosses the other woman's face before it is gone, features carefully schooled to look intrigued but indifferent

"Regina, this is Emma," Killian says. "Emma, this is Regina. She's the general manager of the radio station."

Regina turns to face Emma, examining her from kohl-rimmed eyes. Regina looks incredibly fierce – black studded t-shirt, ratty jeans, high-heeled black boots, multiple piercings in her ear and one in her nose. She looks Emma up and down (she's feeling totally underdressed compared to this other girl) before extending her right hand.

"Nice to meet you," she says. Emma nods before Regina turns back to Killian.

"I need the spring programming schedule by Monday – can you do that?" she asks.

Killian nods. "Will do, darling," he says. "It will be in your inbox by Monday."

"Fabulous. I will send you the new hires list and you can fit them in. Robin's going to schedule training so make sure to forward the schedule to him as well. She looks over at Emma one final time and says, "Nice to meet you, Emma," before leaving the room.

There is silence in the room as the track ends and another begins, and Emma shifts on the stool, re-crossing her legs.

"She seems nice," Emma offers, and Killian laughs.

"She's fine," he tells her. "Better GM than others we've had, so I'm not complaining.

Emma smiles, settles back onto the stool as Killian looks back towards the stack of cds on the counter.

"So play me your favorite tracks," she asks, enjoying how his eyes light up.

"You are in for a lovely afternoon, princess," he promises, and Emma finds that when he calls her 'princess', she actually likes it.

…

Killian returns home late from band practice, exhausted already at the prospect of 8am class tomorrow but with adrenalin coursing through his veins. He walks to the fridge, grabs a beer, and heads to his room, trying to ignore the sound of Robin's extracurricular activities coming from across the hall. He checks his phone, checks his email, checks his Facebook, tries to figure out how to wind down. The band is physically tiring but he's mentally awake thinking of new song lyrics and of Emma. Since Saturday, Emma has been on his mind constantly.

His thoughts drift back to earlier that evening, walking Emma to the stairwell. The way that she told him that she'd have to walk up alone or else someone might see, and so he kissed her there, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close against him.

He wants to write songs about her beauty, the way that her hair catches the harsh track lighting in the studio and glows gold, the perfect angles of her face and the taste of her lips. He wants to write symphonies about the way that her eyes look at him like she understands everything that he is, bruised and broken. When she is with him, he feels whole for the first time in forever.

But she is a princess, and even if he doesn't care about her title or crown, it is impossible to ignore.

"Did she show up?"

Killian looks up from his laptop, then looks away, holding up an arm to block the view. "I'm glad you're wearing something, mate, but still."

Robin laughs, crossing the room and flopping onto Killian's bed in just his boxers. "Did she show up? Inquiring minds want to know."

"She did," Killian says, spinning his chair to face Robin. "We have a date on Friday."

"Good for you," Robin tells him. "I'm proud of you – you're usually the one night stand type of guy."

"I think you're mistaking me with you," Killian points out.

"Probably," a familiar voice says, and Killian glances up to see Regina, wearing one of Robin's plaid shirts, leaning against the doorway. "So Robin said you were head-over-heels for some girl?"

Killian raises his eyes. He wasn't expecting the girl that Robin had over to be Regina, but then again he only knows Regina through WOUT and while she's technically their boss (as much as student volunteers can have bosses), she's been a fair one. And, whenever there were station functions, Regina was actually fun to hang out with. Still - Robin is all plaid flannel and forestry classes; he listens to Mumford and Sons, for god's sake, and the Kings of Leon are on constant repeat whenever a new album comes out. Regina is all black eyeliner and hard edges, her taste in music obscure and complex, her show shifting from deep cuts of electronica to post-rock and the occasional Sub Pop band (probably added for the sake of irony, he thinks).

He checks to make sure his mouth isn't totally agape.

"Very much so," Robin confirms, and Regina smiles slowly.

"The one you were with in the studio today? Did you forget we have a security camera in there?"

"That no one knows how to operate and is only used when we think someone is stealing from us?" Killian points out, feeling bad that he totally forgot about the camera (what would Emma think? He wonders. She'd probably be upset. He would, if he was royalty and was being filmed secretly). "And don't they just record over the tape every seventy-two hours anyway?"

"Details, details," Regina says with a shrug. "But I guess if your girlfriend's royalty…"

"Excuse me?" Killian asks.

"You know she's a princess, right?" Regina asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"She's not my girlfriend," Killian protests just as Robin smacks the back of Killian's chair and yells, "Princess?!"

"Crown Princess, if People Magazine was right." Regina looks at Killian. Her eyes narrow, and she nods. "Of course you knew. Are you from her kingdom? I bet you are – you're certainly not from around here. Shit, Killian."

"And how do you know this?" Killian asks Regina, as Robin curses under his breath.

"Just because I seem like a callous bitch doesn't mean I don't have layers," Regina says with a smirk. "I read the Royal Wedding issues of People AND Time Magazine cover to cover. Your girlfriend was there hanging out with the other Crown Princes and Princesses."

"And why are you reading about royal weddings?" Killian asks while Robin lets out a deep chuckle

Regina cocks her head to the side. "Because I do, and that's all you need to know. Besides, that Kate Middleton may dress like a soccer mom but you have to admire a McQueen by Sarah Burton wedding dress – even if I'm not sure I agree with all of her sartorial choices with the label these days."

Behind him, Robin stands up, wraps his arms around Regina's waist, and pulls her towards him.

"That was actually really sexy," he tells her, "the way that you totally owned him," and Killian groans.

"Get out, you idiots," Killian says, "and close the door behind you."

"Last I checked, you hated all royalty – especially from there." Killian risks a glance up at Robin, looking away when he sees Regina sucking on his neck. He concentrates on the laptop screen.

"I hate the politics, not the royalty. It's a constitutional monarchy so it's the governing body that's corrupt and deplorable, not the Queen and not her daughter."

Robin chuckles again. "I'm not one to judge, mate – but does she know how you feel?"

Regina adds, "Does she even know you're from the same place?"

When Killian stays silent, Robin shakes his head and Regina mumbles, "lovesick puppy" under her breath. Robin grabs Killian's doorknob and pulls the door shut behind them, leaving Killian alone to his thoughts.

They're right: Emma doesn't know that he's from there. Looking back, at no point did he ever tell her that he was from the same country, nor did she ever tell him where she was from. Maybe she assumes he Googled her name? He hasn't, in any case, because he doesn't need to – he knows everything all too well. Queen Mary-Margaret, Prince Consort David, and Crown Princess Emma. He remembers when King Leopold died and when his daughter assumed the throne – he was maybe seven, remembers waving flags in the streets, being carried on Liam's shoulders, while the royal family drove by in their motorcade. Emma was five then, he guesses, just a child overwhelmed by the splendor of the day.

The day still stands out to him not because of the royal family but because it was a day off from school and he was in the care of his brother Liam, seven years older, already planning a career in the military. Liam took him to the docks to watch the royal family on their barge, took him to watch the fireworks, took him everywhere. It was one of the few times that Killian had Liam all to himself, when his brother didn't have work or family obligations.

It was one of the happiest days of Killian's life.

Emma doesn't know the contempt he has for the government – the things he knows, what he has inadvertently done in pursuit of justice for his brother. He's not sure that Emma has much knowledge about the inner workings of the government, or any concept of the lives ruined by the majority leader of Parliament, Rumpel Cassidy, or "Mr. Gold" as the soldiers called him for his ability to silence all those who dissented against his party, usually by way of a cash bribe.

Or in some cases, the wrong end of a gun.

For the first time in a long time he thinks of Milah, her lifeless eyes, and he shudders.

He needs to tell Emma because the longer he doesn't, the more it will weigh on his heart and mind that he is keeping a secret from her and he doesn't know much about relationships but he knows that hiding the truth isn't a good way to start one. But telling her everything about himself… he doesn't know how. How can he tell her about all that he has done – all that has led him here? He doesn't want to lie, but his past is a shadow over the new life he made for himself here.

Killian refreshes Facebook. At the very least, he may as well tell her they're from the same country. It's not that big, but it wouldn't be a lie.

He'll figure it out by Friday, he thinks, taking another swig from his beer. He'll have to. He needs to.

He takes another drink.

…

Emma glances at the clock in Lieutenant Humbert's– no, here she calls him Graham - room. Its quarter to four, and her daily check-in with security is almost done. Lieut - _Graham _(it's still so strange to call him by his first name),is at his desk, filling out the report, which she assumes will be emailed to Leroy and then on to her mother. It's a tedious task, these daily check-ins, but if it keeps her mother off her back then Emma is all for it.

"Do you wish you had a bigger room?" she asks Graham and he shrugs.

"It's bigger than the one I had at the barracks," he says. "Any evening plans?"

Emma sighs. "Dinner near campus with a friend from class at seven. I'm meeting them at the clock tower and we'll walk together." This is what she told her roommates about her date, and it's the easiest way to make sure that neither Leroy nor Graham will follow her to check on her.

Graham raises an eyebrow. "Curfew?"

"Eleven."

"You're going to be at dinner until eleven?" Graham asks.

"You know us girls and how chatty we can get," Emma says with a smile. Graham shakes his head, but she can see the small grin on his face (he's such a softy).

"Do I need to ask more details about the classmate in question?" he asks her, but she just smiles wider.

"Oh, you know me. I am the least likely out of all my roommates to get into trouble. I'm a good little princess who doesn't want to cause any problems," she tells him and it's the truth: none of the other girls have the fear of cameras or the fear of their mother's disapproval to keep them from being reckless. If Emma is reckless, it will end up on the news, she knows it.

Plus, Leroy is always super-grumpy and his lectures on responsibility were tedious to endure and Emma will do anything to avoid _that_.

"What about Belle?" Graham points out.

"Overdue book fees." Emma winks at him, and he smiles.

"All right, then, your highness. I trust that you will text me when you return to your quarters this evening."

Emma mock-salutes him. "Yes sir," she says, as she heads out the door and upstairs to her room.

She's got three hours to kill until her date with Killian, and her only plan is to try on every outfit in her closet to find the right one – one that says "I'm into you" and "I want to make out with your face" while still being respectable.

She's never done this before – never gone on a casual date, is used to wearing modest dresses or formal gowns, and even though her wardrobe here is less formal than her wardrobe at home, she's struggling to determine what would look cute. As a result, it takes a significant amount of time, and some help from Belle, who she discreetly tells about her date with the promise that she won't tell Graham (Belle sincerely crosses her heart before helping Emma braid her hair back from her face, which is a sweet gesture and incredibly cute).

"You look lovely," Belle tells her, smiling shyly, and Emma grins.

"But not too much, right?" she asks, looking down at her clothes. They kept it simple but cute for dinner at a Chinese restaurant – chambray shirt, dark green skinny jeans, brown riding boots. Emma wraps a patterned scarf from her mother around her neck, checks herself in the mirror.

"No – it's just dinner, after all," Belle points out. "And it's just Jade Garden, so it's not that fancy. I mean, they let you use your meal card there."

"So what would be fancy?" Emma asks. Belle shrugs.

"Somewhere downtown and not near campus – that sushi place? Or maybe the new gastropub? Anywhere they don't take meal cards."

"True," Emma says. She checks her makeup one last time before glancing at the clock. Fifteen minutes until seven. There are butterflies in her stomach at the thought.

"If you're not back at eleven…" Belle asks, because she knows about Emma's curfew. Emma shrugs.

"I'll tell Graham we're getting coffee too. I'll be home by twelve," she says. "Thanks for your help." She hugs Belle.

"It was a pleasure, your – Emma," Belle says.

Emma grabs her purse. "Wish me luck!"

Her heart hammers the entire walk to the clock tower, her thoughts on her date with Killian. They've been texting rather frequently in the past few days and she's gotten to the point where a new text from him makes her super freaking excited. As a result, the anticipation has been slowly building to the point where, when she sees him waiting in a dark blue button-down and a pair of jeans, she can't help but grin like an idiot.

"Hey," she says, and she extends her arms almost automatically, letting him hug her. She's surprised to notice that there is nothing weird about the fact that this is their first official date. But then again she's already kissed him three times and there's something between them that makes intimacy not so startling.

Also, he smells really freaking good.

"You look amazing, princess," he tells her, letting go of her and scratching the bad of his neck with his hand (a nervous tic, she decides, maybe he's as nervous as she is), and she responds, "you don't look so bad yourself."

"Well," Killian says, running his hand through his hair, "Ready to get some Chinese?"

Emma smiles. "That sounds fantastic."

And as they walk towards the main street, where all the restaurants near campus are located, she slips her hand into his, feeling the warmth of his palm pressed against her own, enjoying the way that it felt to be near him. She's never felt like this before, and every new and novel sensation is exciting to her.

She never wants this feeling to go away.

She squeezes his hand, thrilled when he squeezes back.


	4. four

"So he's from back home?" Belle asks, placing her fork down on the edge of her plate.

Emma takes a sip of coffee before nodding her head. "Yeah," she says easily. "Yeah, he is."

The simple statement, spoken in confidentially to her roommate in the dining hall, does little to actually explain everything Emma is feeling right now. She could barely sleep last night as she turned over her date with Killian in her head, looking it from every angle.

Her heart hurts.

It had started out well – great, actually, it was really great walking to the Chinese restaurant hand-in-hand. They had no shortage of things to talk about, and Emma was happy that conversation seemed to flow so easily, that other than pauses and coy glances at each other, everything seemed to be going really well (there had been worse evenings in her life, like any time she was forced to attend a state dinner with any random Young Lord Grabby-Hands).

Until, halfway done with their food, Killian had dropped his bombshell.

He was nervous, Emma can tell in retrospect, and rightfully so, because suddenly switching from pleasant conversation about the university's football team to announcing that he's actually from her small little kingdom?

(Her ears still ring a bit form when _that_ truth bomb went off.)

Emma picks up her fork, pushes her scrambled egg around on her plate. Belle clears her throat.

"What did you say?"

Emma holds up a piece of egg, decides not to eat it. "I was polite, and I told him that information such as that needed to be disclosed prior to a dinner date."

_Which is saying it nicely,_ Emma thinks. Her immediate instinct was to leave the situation as soon as possible, but the restaurant was full of patrons and it dawned on her, slowly, that exiting in the manner she so very much desired (perhaps a well-thrown verbal barb, definitely stomping out in a huff) would draw attention to herself, and that's the last thing she wanted to do. It may draw attention to her presence, which would definitely draw Leroy's attention, and Graham would get in trouble because she did not tell him she would be on a date, and her mother would demand that she return home immediately and she didn't want that at all.

Okay, so that was a total worst-case scenario, but Emma can't help how her mind automatically goes that direction. _The perils of being a princess,_ she thinks bitterly. Always in the public eye – except for now, and it had been going so well…

"I think we should leave soon," is all that she said, and when they parted for the night, they did not hug and she walked back to the dorm cold and alone and terrified (she tries not to remember the broken look on Killian's face; she fails).

"But why would he not tell you?" Belle asks. Emma shrugs.

"I wish I knew that."

She really wishes she knew the answer, because everything was so good, and everything was so perfect, so of course it would fall apart, right? Because this is too much of a leap of faith that she would find someone while here – it is too much to believe that she would have an honest chance of finding someone who didn't know and didn't care about her title -

Belle says something but Emma's not paying attention. She shakes her head, clears away the thoughts that are plaguing her. "What?"

"Well, did he lie to you about where he was from?" Belle repeats. Emma takes a deep breath and studies her coffee.

"No," she admits. They never made it past names and majors before they were making out at the party, and everything since then had been small talk and more making out, so other than her admission that she as a princess…

Emma sighs. "He did take the fact that I was…who I am…really well when I told him. He didn't even ask where I was from."

"So I don't really see what the problem is," Belle tells her. "You like him a lot, he already knows who you are, and he didn't lie to you."

Emma sighs. "You're all about honesty, aren't you?" she remarks. Belle shrugs.

"I tend to believe that relationships built on lies don't last," Belle explains. "If anything, this is a sin of omission, not dishonesty. Perhaps he was scared? I know I was when they told me…" she trails off, blushing, and Emma smiles gently. She knows exactly what Belle is going to say because she heard it all the time when she was younger – in school, in the scouts, at other times: she is royalty, and that is overwhelming.

"I'm sorry if I'm intimidating," she says, and Belle shakes her head.

"No, no – it's not that. It's just…you'll be my queen someday, if I go back home." Belle smiles and reaches for Emma's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Trust me, there are far more intimidating people in the world than you."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Emma lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she mulls over Belle's words.

Belle's right. It's not even the fact that he didn't lie to her that bothers her. It's the fact that he's from her kingdom, and that he knows who she is, that rankles her. He knows. Which is a different kind of awkward because he also knows what she looked like when she was thirteen and a bit awkward and chunky (she also grew three inches that year and her skin looks much better now).

She doesn't know if he's only interested in her because she's the princess, or because of some other reason. Did he recognize her at the party? She knows he's been here for years because it's pretty clear his life is established – they ran into multiple people that he knew on the way to the restaurant, the servers knew him, and he's got a band that seems relatively well-established. This isn't just some ridiculous stalker out to date a princess.

This might be more than that.

"You're worried," Belle says, and Emma sighs.

"I don't want to be taken advantage of," she tells her. "I don't want some guy to date me because I'm…me."

"What if he's dating you in spite of the fact that you're you?" Belle points out.

"That would be a first," Emma comments. Belle just smiles, and leans forward to whisper conspiratorially.

"Besides, we could always look him up on Facebook."

The idea sounds brilliant and Emma's almost embarrassed she didn't think of it sooner. "Let's do it," she tells Belle, grabbing her tray. Facebook stalking would totally guarantee that she would get a better idea of what's going on with Killian, and if really just was a creeper trying to date a princess (she really hopes he's not, because she really wants to keep kissing him).

But of course, it's a lot harder than it seems.

"How can he not have a Facebook?" Emma asks, trying yet another combination of "Killian Jones" (there aren't many) while Belle offers suggestions. They are huddled around Emma's computer, door closed for privacy.

"Some people don't do Facebook anymore," Belle offers, which makes Emma sigh. Her own Facebook is ridiculous and locked down because the only people that want to friend her on Facebook are people she knows from back home and she doesn't Snap Chat (her mother would kill her) and this is –

"This is ridiculous," she says. Belle sighs.

"I guess asking him why he doesn't is out of the question?" Belle asks, and Emma is so frustrated right now that she grabs her phone and texts him immediately.

**Why don't you have a Facebook?**

She puts the phone on her desk and taps her fingers. Belle giggles.

"What?"

"It's 10 in the morning on a Saturday," Belle points out. "Do you really think that –"

The phone vibrates and Emma practically lunges for it.

**Is there any reason you're asking, princess?**

Emma huffs, shows it to Belle, who says, "Just tell him."

Emma rolls her eyes. Infuriating bastard.

**Because I'm trying to Facebook stalk you.**

"That seems a bit much," Belle points out.

"It's the truth." Emma leans back in her desk chair and crosses her arms over her chest. "We _are_ trying to Facebook stalk him."

"I prefer to call it 'research'," Belle adds as a caveat, and she nudges Emma's shoulder with her own. It makes Emma feel better to have Belle with her during all of this – the date last night, this morning. It feels good to know that someone understands her predicament.

"Thanks," she tells Belle, who smiles smugly and says, "Of course, your highness," which makes Emma groan and roll her eyes.

"You sound just like him –"

The phone vibrates again.

**It's under my email address - kj998 at – **

Emma types it into the search box and it pops up, just K Jones and his picture with some man with blond hair. Everything seems vaguely legit, which Belle comments on, and Emma can actually feel the vice that's been clenched around her heart ease up a bit. There is nothing about her country, nothing about information that seems to be from the last three years (it even says he joined three years ago). There are tons of pictures of him playing with his band, more with him and the radio station crew (Regina pops up occasionally).

Maybe Belle's right, and maybe Killian likes her in spite of who she is.

The phone vibrates.

**So are we going to be Facebook friends?**

Emma lets out a small laugh, and sends the request. It's immediately accepted, and by that point he's sent another text.

**I think we should talk.**

"I think you should too," Belle tells her softly. "At least, hear him out. You can do it here if you'd like – that way there will be people nearby. I don't want you to be alone with him, in case…" Belle trails off, and Emma agrees.

"Thank you – I mean it. You're a really good friend, Belle."

As she texts Killian back (**can you come over here?**), Ruby chooses that moment to enter their room from her side of the suite.

"What are you two acting all sneaky about – oh, is that Killian?" she asks, glancing at Emma's Facebook. "I didn't know you had a Facebook!"

Belle looks at Emma. "Perhaps you should tell them," she says quietly. "The more people that know about you…"

This is a new development, and while Emma has been mulling it over for the better part of this semester, she's not entirely sure how to tell people this sort of thing. Dropping it drunkenly on Killian was a mistake, though now that things are out in the open between them (albeit dramatically) it seems easier to tell Ruby and Ariel.

"Tell us you're royalty? We knew that from jump street," Ruby says. "Seriously, Ariel follows royal blogs on Tumblr. She recognized you immediately but we've been trying to be cool because you know Prince Harry."

"He's probably going to marry Cressida," Emma says, grinning widely despite the tears that she can feel forming. She's moved by this display of tact and discretion on behalf of people she's only just met this year – Belle, Ariel, and Ruby, all of them being so kind and sweet to her.

"Well, what about Carl-Phillip? Aren't you related to them or something?" Ruby asks. "I would move to Sweden for that hottie."

Emma laughs. "I'll see what I can do." The phone in her hand buzzes.

**I have to do laundry this morning but maybe later? Running out of clean clothes and don't want to look disrespectable in front of you…;)**

She texts back** Sounds good. Let me know.**

"So what's up with Killian?" Ruby asks. Emma takes a deep breath and turns to Belle.

If anyone can help her with this problem, it's these girls.

"It's a long story…" Emma starts.

…

Killian is beyond nervous as he walks to Emma's dorm. He's surprised she's willing to meet him as disastrously as their date ended, but he is infinitely grateful as well. He remembers her mother, benevolent and graceful when he was discharged, and thinks that perhaps Emma's inherited more than her beauty.

The date was such an epic disaster that Killian dialed Robin the minute that he saw Emma disappear into the crowd near campus. Robin was, as per usual, already at the dive bar he frequented, and so when Killian joined him, he ordered another round.

"So what happened?" Robin asked.

"I told the truth," Killian said. And the truth hurt.

He remembers, even now, the way that Emma's face changed when she found out that they were from the same kingdom – when she learned that he knew who she was. Her face froze, eyes wide and frightened, and all Killian could think was that this was the lesser offense – he had yet to tell her of Milah, or Gold, or anything he had done that made him choose voluntary exile over the loss of a limb.

She ended the date quickly and left with just one heartbreakingly devastated backward glance.

And now, apparently, he may have a chance for forgiveness or, at the very least, some way to reach a mutual understanding. Killian does not expect things to go back to the way they were, but he does hope that they can be amicable enough so that if he sees her on campus, they will at least wave to each other.

Of course, that might be asking too much.

Emma greets him at the door, and she looks stunning in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, so different from what she wore on their date (but she is the most beautiful creature he's seen regardless of what she wears). "Let's go upstairs," she says, clutching her keys in her hand like a weapon, and Killian wonders if perhaps he was reading this wrong – perhaps this is not reconciliation, but rather something else entirely different. Perhaps she feels like, on her turf, she can rant at him all that she wants.

It makes no difference, he decides as they enter the elevator: he deserves whatever he gets for not being completely honest with her (even if he's determined to keep other secrets in check for the time being).

Emma lives in a suite, and she introduces him to a slight girl with brown hair named Belle. "She's also from back home," Emma says, smile faltering, and Belle is kind as she asks Killian how he is doing before leaving the room, leaving the common area to retreat to the bedrooms. Emma heads towards the papizan and curls up in it, leaving him with no choice but to sit on the futon.

"Emma," he starts, but she shakes her head.

"Why didn't you tell me when we met?" she asks. Killian sighs, runs his hands through his hair. He's not sure what to say – a number of clever retorts come to mind – until he settles on the truth.

"Why didn't you tell me when we met?" she asks. Killian sighs, runs his hands through his hair. He's not sure what to say – a number of clever retorts come to mind – until he settles on the truth.

"I don't know," he says. "I think I was scared. I mean…you're the princess. I'm just a commoner. And I really like you." He can feel his face flush as he says the words, and across the room Emma curls in on herself, tucking her knees towards her chest.

"You could have told me," she says, and Killian tries not to laugh.

"When? Before we were making out or after we got Jimmy John's? Before the radio station, probably, but I…the timing wasn't right." There was never a good time (how do you give such information when you are still getting to know someone?).

"Belle says I should be merciful," Emma tells him. "Ruby says I should make you beg, and Ariel says I should follow my heart." She looks at him and his heart flips in his chest and he knows that he will never meet someone like her – may never feel this way again. He nods his head, exhales slowly.

"And what do you think?" he asks.

Emma tilts her head to the left. "I agree with all of them," she says. "Because I do like you – I like how I feel around you. And as much as I'd love to see you beg…I think that maybe I should be merciful, too." She grins. "Which is why you're going to hang out with us tonight."

This takes him off-guard. "Us?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"My roommates and me. They're going to get to know you, and we'll see how it goes." Emma grins. "It was their idea, but I agree with it."

Killian feels like he is being let off the hook way too easily for this – he knows he's not being forgiven, but he's never had trouble charming the ladies and spending an evening with Emma and her roommates can't be that bad (until he remembers the wolfish grin of that one girl from the party– Ruby – who Emma clearly listed as one of her roommates, and then he gets worried).

"As you wish," he tells her.

"Good." Emma reaches for her phone from the papizan. "What kind of pizza do you like?"

The rest of the evening is a blur, and in retrospect it is absolutely clear to Killian that every moment has been orchestrated perfectly by the four ladies of the suite: nothing is left unplanned from the choice of movies (_Mean Girls, _then _The Notebook_) to the pizza and seating arrangements (he is sandwiched between Ariel and Ruby on the futon) to the way that Ruby escorts him out the front door at 10pm only for Belle to help him sneak back upstairs through the side stairwell.

"Rules are rules," Belle says as an apology, "and Emma has a security team that would notice if she broke them." Killian agrees, thoroughly impressed by how dedicated Emma's friends are. They still barely know each other but the actions of the other girls speak volumes about Emma.

The evening hasn't been that bad – her friends are nice, he does his best to charm them, but the real test comes later, when the others retire to their bedrooms and he is alone with Emma. She puts _on The Princess Bride_ before coming to sit because him on the futon. There is distance between them and he wants to close it – desperately – but he doesn't, because he is frightened of moving too fast, of doing too much. Instead, he waits as she takes out her phone, types into it, and then turns to him.

"They don't think you're a creeper," Emma tells him as she scoots over, and he doesn't have to wonder long who 'they' are.

"So do I have a delay of sentence, then?" he asks, enjoying the feeling of her snuggling into his side more than he would like to admit (he would be lost without her, he knows this now, so incredibly lost without her). Emma sighs.

"Just shut up and watch the movie," she tells him.

"Interesting choice for a – "he starts, and she shakes her head.

"Shut up, Killian, and watch the movie," she threatens, but he can see a hint of a grin on her face.

He does shut up, but he spends as much time watching her as he does the movie, and at some point both of them give up any pretenses of paying attention (and when her lips meet his, he feels like a drowning man being given air again).

He is in far too deep, and he fears what she will think of him when he tells her the entire story of his life.

…

The bed buzzes, waking Emma up. The TV set is still on in the background, and when the bed buzzes again – phone, shit, it's her phone – Emma struggles, the covers weighing her down as she reaches for it on the edge of the futon. It is only when there is a groan in her ear that she realizes that her covers are pulling her closer. Warm air brushes against her neck as she thinks _Killian_.

Her eyes snap open as the events of the last day run through her head and she realizes that Killian is here, in the suite, with her (snuck in carefully by her roommates, those precious girls) and she is in his arms. She remembers how they ended up entwined like this, how they both stopped watching the movie and started watching only each other, how she was the first to lean forward and place her lips against his.

They didn't do more than make out, though as he pulls her against him and presses a kiss against her neck, it is obvious to her that they could have done more (he doesn't push her for anything and she doesn't know why – she's not used to such gentleness, such care from boys her own age – at least those she knows from home) and so when he kisses her below her ear she shifts away from him.

"No marks," she cautions, reminding Killian of what she told him last night – how marks would be scrutinized by Leroy and Graham, how her mother would find out – and she remembers his response (he only kissed her more deeply, fingers trailing up her side, lingering beneath her breasts until she practically begged him to touch her).

"Understood, princess," he says, and she shivers from the feeling of his breath on her neck.

She reaches for her phone and it lights up the dark room. Killian groans, tucking his face away from the light and into her shoulder, and Emma quickly checks her text-messages only to find that it's nothing important – just pictures of her god-daughter playing with her sisters in a school pageant.

Of course, her god-daughter will one day be Queen of the Netherlands but that's neither here nor there.

She shoots a quick text back as Killian asks, "So what was that?"

"Just my god-daughter being adorable," Emma tells him. She throws her phone on the ground and shifts in his arms, burrowing herself deeper into Killian. He chuckles, pulls the blankets up over them.

"She's your god-daughter," he remarks, voice still heavy with sleep. "Of course she's adorable. I'm not at all surprised."

Emma grins, wrapping her arms around his warmth, grateful for this. She's glad that they were able to talk through whatever problems they had – glad that they could handle things amicably, because she likes Killian. _Really_ likes him, if she's being honest, and there's a small part of her that likes the fact that he's from home. It makes things easier in the long run if she has to introduce him to her parents or bring him to state dinners or –

She laughs at how ridiculous she is being, and he groans, brushing his lips across her forehead.

"What's so funny?" he asks, nudging his nose against her own.

"Nothing," Emma tells him. "I'm just really happy."

"Me too," he says, before his lips claim hers and they don't talk again for some time.


End file.
